


Strike and Cure His Heart

by humblepirate



Series: Love Me Dead universe [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, CBT, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Rings, Crossdressing, D/s, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluffy Smut, Gen, Hickies, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Denial, Other, Spanking, Sub!Klaus, sub!Ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblepirate/pseuds/humblepirate
Summary: For almost two weeks you've waited for them. Two weeks when you thought you'd lost Ben and Klaus forever.When they finally come back to you, you show them exactly how much you'd missed them.





	Strike and Cure His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is from my ongoing fic, Love Me Dead. If you'd like to read the full story, you can find it in the "Love Me Dead universe" series to which this fic belongs. Enjoy!

“You do what you want, Klaus. You always have.” There is a grave finality to Diego's voice, a note of defeat, like he’s had this conversation too many times and can’t summon the energy to keep the fight going. With a final, sorrow-heavy glance at Ben, he turns and stomps out of the room.

None of you speaks until the sound of the kitchen door slamming shut echoes through the apartment. Klaus lets out a breath delirious with a note of hysterical laughter.

“I really thought he was gonna punch my lights out,” he giggles. He swings around and flops back onto the bed, and a pained gasp punches out of his lungs as he jostles his wound. “Looks like I’m not quite up to fighting condition yet,” he sighs.

With Diego went all of the tension clogging the air, and in his absence you can finally breathe again.

Before you can fully register your actions you’re smacking Klaus’s leg hard enough to make him yelp.

“Don’t! Ever! Do! That! Again!” you shout with every blow. He winces but does nothing to stop you.

When your initial bout of rage loses steam and your fists fall slack upon the bedcovers, you realize that hot tears are pushing their way out of your eyes. Not the illusion of tears, but real, salty, burning,  _wet_ tears clouding your vision before spilling over your cheeks and dripping onto the mattress. Your lower lip is curling against your will and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to break out into enormous, ugly sobs.

Then Klaus places a gentle hand over your fist, and that’s enough to topple the last of your brick wall of resolve. Your breath comes in great, heaving gasps and your eyes squeeze shut against the onslaught of tears. Klaus doesn’t say anything when you allow him to pull you against his chest, and if you weren’t so goddamned relieved that he’s okay you would be embarrassed at the amount of bodily fluids you’re getting all over him.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and snakes his hand into your hair, stroking along your scalp in a soothing rhythm. His chin rests atop your head and you can hear him humming a distantly familiar tune. 

Slowly, your breaths turn to watery hiccups, then steady until you no longer feel like your head is full of air. Klaus’s scent surrounds you like a down blanket, sweat and sleep and the lingering whisper of a body wash that you don’t recognize. It tugs you back down to Earth, whispers that  _it’s going to be okay_ and soothes the anxious wrinkles in your mind.

“I’m still mad at you,” you mumble into his chest when you can finally speak without crying. He just laughs, a high, carefree sound, and combs his fingers through your hair.

When you finally extract yourself from his hold, you wipe the lingering moisture from your eyes and release a pitiful sniffle, eyes fixed on the worn floorboards to avoid Klaus’s gaze. He wipes the remnants of your crying jag from his chest with the corner of a pillowcase and lies back down, arms open for a cuddle, but you’re rooted to the mattress.

Your limbs stiffen when you feel the mattress dip on your other side. Your pinkies are just millimeters apart but Ben doesn’t touch you, doesn’t break the fragile bubble you’ve constructed around yourself. When he speaks, his voice is jarring in the precarious quiet.

“Where I went,” he says softly, “there was nothing. Like, actually nothing. It wasn’t purgatory, it wasn’t the astral plane, it was just miles and miles of the complete absence of anything.” He sucks in a shaky breath. “It was horrible. Like being constantly on the verge of falling asleep, but knowing that there’s a terrible nightmare waiting for you as soon as you do. I was too scared to close my eyes. I was so,  _so_ tired.”

He places his hand over yours. “I don’t know why I was there. But in all that time,  _all_ I could think about was you, and how much I needed to get back to you.” He squeezes your hand gently. “Because you are my family now. I didn’t want to fall asleep if it meant I wouldn’t get to see your smile when I woke up.”

He strokes his other hand over your cheek, tilting your face toward his so you can see the earnest love in his eyes.

“Eternal peace would be fucking worthless to me if I didn’t get to share it with you,” he whispers.

Your skin burns with a strange kind of sensation, embarrassment at the intimacy of his admission coupled with a soaring excitement. This is such a striking contrast to the dewey innocence that used to bely his gaze, like he’s stripped away the outer facade and you’re staring straight into the roiling center of his deepest vulnerabilities.

There is no hesitation, no remnant of the fear he’d expressed the last time you’d kissed. There is just a determination, peace with the inevitability of eternity, and the need to act upon the desires which he’d been too meek to admit to before.  You suppose brushing with oblivion can do that to a person.

You let his kiss overwhelm you, reveling in the heat that erupts from your lips. Salty tears flavor the kiss, yours or his you cannot tell, his fingers digging into your cheek to guide you closer and you want nothing but to just keep kissing him forever.

Your focus is shattered when another pair of lips brushes over your shoulder, pressing careful pecks along your skin until they reach the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Then the kisses start to sting, bits of teeth like blunt needles against your flesh and you can feel yourself melting into the touch. A body presses against your back, holding you between the twin sets of lips ravishing your skin, fingers pressing possessively into your hips.

Hands- you should do something with your hands. You fight through the rosy haze of arousal clouding your mind to reach behind you, feeling for something you can use to leverage your position. You find a leather-clad thigh that trembles at the brush of your fingers over the sinewy muscles. You find your spot and stay there, teasing the yearning flesh with steady strokes just on the edge of not enough. Klaus breathes out a huff of impatience against your neck and triumph warms your chest.

Your other hand locates Ben’s knee, ambles its way up his thigh  _this close_ to the seam of his pants where an erection is already beginning to form. The kiss grows messy, laced with short breaths and reedy whines as you shatter his concentration. His hands trembles against your cheek but he does not seem in any mood to move it, just to allow you to continue stroking your fingertips over his cock with careful dominance.

Klaus shuffles closer to you on the bed until his back is flush with yours, and warmth rushes through you when you feel his own erection pressing against your ass. He gives a few tentative movements, and when you don’t do anything to stop him, he begins to freely grind against your backside. His arms slide around your middle in a possessive embrace and his teeth leave your neck so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. His whiny panting breaths puff against your ear in time with the motions of his hips against your body.

“S-so… good… to me,” he grunts. The warmth of his breath against your cheek sends pleasant vibrations thrumming through your center. Your grip tightens on his thigh, nails digging into his flesh as deep as he can take it.

Ben’s eyes are shut tight but you can see the effect the scene is having on him as he deepens the kiss, dipping his tongue into your mouth to sate his thirst for you. He’s too perfect of a boy to grind against your hand without permission, but from the way his thighs quake under your touch you can tell that  _god_ does he want to.

A naughty idea slithers into your brain, an idea so perfectly enticing that there’s no way you can’t act on it. The hand on Ben’s thigh diverts its course, cups his groin with a sudden smooth motion and the boy’s reaction is immediate. He gasps into your mouth, hot and needy, nails scraping over your cheek as he cries out in pleasure. He pulls away from the kiss and stares at you with hungry, grief stricken eyes, already so needy from the torture before you’ve even gotten his dick out. 

“Enough,” you snap. The order is accompanied by a small smack to Klaus’s thigh. He gives a yelp at the sudden pain and reluctantly extracts himself from you.

It’s harder to stand up than you thought it would be- partly because your legs are still shaking from the heat of the kiss, and partly because every cell in your body is screaming at you to stay with them. What you have planned, however, will make everything worth it.

You place your hands on your hips and give them your most dominant glare. God but they look so perfect, lips kiss-flushed and eyes teary with need. “I will be right back,” you tell them. You turn your gaze on Ben, who shrinks away slightly even as he bites his lip in need. “If you’re still dressed when I return, I’ll edge you for a week.”

The eagerness with which he rips off his hoodie makes you giggle. You head to the kitchen and rifle through the drawers for something Klaus had bought some time ago, fully intending to use it, and then promptly forgot among the miscellaneous cooking supplies. You finally locate it at the back of a lower drawer- a neat, unopened ball of cooking twine.

When you reenter the bedroom, the boys are sitting beside each other on the bed, Klaus swinging his legs in gleeful excitement and Ben fiddling uncertainly with his hands. His clothes lie strewn over the floor, all except for his briefs. As soon as he sees you and the object you’re holding, his skin turns a deep shade of tomato but he sticks out his chin bravely. 

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted my underwear to stay on too,” he says, clearly trying to disguise the tremor in his voice, “so I thought maybe-”

“Shh, baby.” You quickly cross the room and cup his cheek in one hand, brushing a gentle thumb over his skin. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch gratefully. “You did perfect, Ben. Such a good boy.”

“What about me?” Klaus whines. “I’m already shirtless and you didn’t even have to ask!”

“You’re always shirtless,” you retort.

“Touche.”

You direct them to sit on the bed with their backs to each other, then use the twine to fasten their wrists behind their backs. “Ben should be just fine, since, you know, he’s already dead,” you say, “but Klaus, yours is a bit looser so as not to cut off your circulation.” You grab his chin and jerk his face up to look him straight-on. “Don’t give me a reason to make it tighter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine,” he hums.

You snort and toss his head to the side. He’s still wearing that outdated leather skirt- heaven knows where he got it, but it’ll work just fine for your purposes. You climb into his lap and grind against his boner which hasn’t flagged a bit since you left him. He gives you an open-mouthed grin teeming with mischief, though you can see the way his jaw ticks with anticipation.

You drag one finger over his cheek, relishing his warmth and the scratch of his dark stubble. You bring your lips to his forehead and inhale the foreign scent of his shampoo and the perfume of his skin, letting it wash through you, pressing him into the pages of your memory like a dried-up forget-me-not. You kiss away the furrow between his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, one cheek and then the other. You can feel the tremors miles below his skin, in a softer, darker part of him to which he rarely devotes his attention.

When reach his lips, he stretches up a bit to meet the kiss and you can tell that he shares your dread and relief, that the tremors are calling out to be quenched by your love. The kiss is a demand and a request and a prayer and a promise.

You would give them all to him, everything, anything at all.

You finally break the kiss and lean back a bit to examine him: flushed, desperate,  _perfect_. You cup his chin and tilt his head to one side, examining the jut of his crooked nose, the hollows beneath his stark cheekbones. You want to remember all of it, print him like a tattoo on your soul so you never have to forget the graceful arch of his throat or the messy brown curls that fall across his forehead like a broken halo.

His lips slide into a playful grin. “You just gonna look at me all day, or are you going to help a man out?” He rolls his hips to grind his still-very-present erection against you and smirks around his teeth digging into his lower lip.

A burst of warmth blossoms in your heart, because that is just so very  _Klaus_ and nothing he does could ever really upset you. As nice as it is to just sit and commit every piece of him to memory, though, you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t ready to get onto the fun part.

You press one more kiss to his lips, one he tries to break with a teasing tongue; but when you grab a fistful of his messy curls and  _yank_ , his mouth flies open on a needy moan and his body bows toward you.

“  _Thirteen days_ ,” you hiss into his mouth. “Thirteen days you were away from me. How did you think that made me feel?” You twist the hand in his hair and he lets out a feeble whimper. “I was so scared I could- I could  _kill you_ , Klaus.”

“S- sor-”

“Don’t fucking say that you’re sorry. We both know it wouldn’t change anything.” You give his hair another solid tug, this time accompanying it with a hard grind against his straining erection, and the sob that falls from his trembling lips is like a desperate hymn.

It’s dangerous territory, you know. While most of it is played up for the sake of the scene- you had warned him how mean you could get- there is an edge of truth to the words that’s difficult to keep out of your voice. The way he reacts to your words, though, the effect seems almost therapeutic. He leans into the admonishments like lashes, like a penitent desperate to flagellate himself on the altar of your forgiveness. And you  _want_ to forgive him. Want the words to stop being true.

Want him to understand that you’d go thirteen  _lifetimes_ without seeing him if it meant he was safe.

He whimpers and wriggles beneath you, tugs against the hand caught tight in his hair, lips trembling as he wallows in the pleasure. Your free hand catches his chin, jerks his face to yours at the same time your other hand gives his hair another good tug, causing his eyes to fly open and latch onto yours. They’re as deep a green as the ocean and they suck you in like a fucking riptide.

“I’m thinking thirteen spanks should do it. One for every day you left me alone,” you say aloud. Your eyes are locked onto Klaus’s, which widen in an expression of expectation. You squeeze his jaw. “What do you think, Ben?”

Up to then, Ben had remained so quiet that had he not been in your line of sight you could easily have forgotten he was there. Whether he’d kept up the silence to allow you and Klaus some measure of privacy, or because he was too uncomfortable with the exchange to comment on it- the poor boy was barely toe-deep in the sexual deviancy that accompanied the kind of humiliation you were lavishing on his brother- you can’t be sure.

His shoulders tense at the sound of his name. “I- I think…” His voice warbles, but he’s trying to keep up that brave facade, trying to sound more confident than he truly is. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

You let go of Klaus’s chin to give his cheek a playful slap. “Hear that, darling? Even sweet little Ben agrees with me.”

You slide off his lap- giving him another light slap on the arm when he moans at the loss of the pressure against his erection- and give him an appraising glance-over. His lips are parted in perfect little breathy pants, hair messy with flyaway tangles, an obvious tent in the fabric of his skirt. He looks fucking  _ruined_ , and you haven’t even gotten started.

A low whimper draws your focus over to Ben. Patient Ben, whose pulse is visibly fluttering in his neck and whose lower lip is bloody with teeth marks. You don’t miss the significant bulge in his briefs, or the way his breathing quickens when he sees you eyeing it.

“Oh, my,” you breathe. He casts his eyes down in shame, a pink flush rising on his cheeks, but he doesn’t shrink from your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I was just… I could hear what you were doing to him, and thinking about… how I want you to,” he swallows hard, “to touch me.”

“Oh, Ben, honey. You don’t need to be ashamed.” You trace a gentle finger over his chest, letting it meander down between his pecs, teasing along the trail of hair leading to the waistband of his briefs. “I’m impressed that you’re holding it together so well.”

“That’s not going to last much longer if you k-keep doing that,” he huffs.

You give him a teasing laugh. You haven’t even touched him, finger stopped a good three inches from the base of his dick, but there’s already a damp mark on his briefs where he’s leaking precome.

“I know you can keep trying. Such a good boy for me,” you reply, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

Klaus has grown antsy from the lack of attention and is trying to wiggle his hips in a pointless bid for friction against his dick. You cuff the back of his head and he fixes you with a glare.

“Ow! The hell was that for?” he snaps.

“On your knees. Now,” you reply. The venom in your voice immediately wipes the disobedience from his face.

He struggles to get himself from a sitting position to kneeling with his hands still bound behind his back. Ben peeks over his shoulder and giggles when he sees his brother trying vainly to adjust himself without jostling his boner. Klaus shoots him a poisonous snarl.

“You don’t have much room to talk, Mister Premature Ejaculation,” he snaps. The effect of his words is diminished somewhat by the fact that his face is pressed against the window to try and maintain his balance while he attempts to adjust his ridiculously long legs.

“At least I know how to listen,” Ben shoots back. “Remind me again how many spankings you’re going to get because you couldn’t keep your hand off your dick for five fucking minutes.”

“He wet the bed until he was sixteen, you know,” Klaus tells you.

“Dude, low blow!”

“That’s  _enough_ ,” you snap. The brothers immediately fall silent.

You snarl your hand in Klaus’s curls and lean right up to his face. “Ben paid his dues. I won’t hear another word from you about any of his shortcomings, got it?”

Klaus snorts and rolls his eyes. “No pun intended, I assume?” You shove his face harder into the glass and he relents with a shout. “Alright, alright! Message received,” he yells.

Without further comment, you use your grip on his hair to tug him forward and shove his face into the mattress. It’s not the most graceful way to handle it, but when you let go, Klaus is face-down on his knees with his hands bound behind his back and his ass presented neatly for your usage.

You run a hand reverently along his spine, admiring the question-mark curve ending with his pert little behind still covered by the skirt. You seize the waistband and tug it down to pool around his knees. Jesus, even this man’s backside manages to look angelic when he’s lying so beautiful and pliant beneath you.

“Easy on the merchandise, will ya? I just got it waxed,” he says, voice muffled by the mattress. 

And, of course, he knows just how to ruin a mood. You give one cheek a quick slap to chastise him.

“Ah- one,” he gasps. “You wanted me to count them, right?”

“Yes, I did, but that one didn’t count. That was just for being a dick,” you reply.

He shrugs as well as he can in this position. “Fair.”

You rub over his backside in soothing strokes, prepping him for the pain about to come his way. “You remember your safeword?” you ask him.

He nods. “Reginald,” he grumbles disdainfully.

“Ew,” Ben mutters.

“Ben, dear,” you hum, “you can watch if you’d like.”

He gives a curt nod, sliding right back into the scene as he wiggles a bit to get a better vantage point. You can see the muscles in his thighs trembling from how badly they need something to rut against.

You give Klaus’s ass one final, sweet caress. Then you rear your hand back and bring it down again with a satisfying  _slap._

His entire body jerks forward, but with his face smushed into the mattress and his arms tightly bound behind himself he has nowhere to go. His cock twitches with interest and a guttural moan squeezes through his clenched teeth.

“  _One_ ,” he hisses desperately.

You don’t give him time to come down from the pain of the first spank before you’re moving onto the next one.

“  _Ow_ \- same cheek, really? Two,” he groans.

“The more to hurt you with, my dear,” you say with a teasing grin.

You deliver two more spanks to the same cheek before taking pity on him and switching to the other one. Despite his protestations, Klaus doesn’t seem to mind it all that much. His voice trembles on every number, floating on waves of desperate, hungry  moans. He pushes back into the strikes, needy, begging for the pain in the shaking of his taut muscles and the puddle of precome gathering below his cock.

You’re careful to keep the dirty talk safe, veering away from the humiliation in favor of naughty praise. You know how much Klaus craves the degradation, but it would be too easy for it to become a tool of self-flagellation. 

You’re up to spank number seven when Ben begins to squirm. He wants so badly to obey your unspoken instruction to stay still, but his legs are easing closer together, rolling his hips to grind his dick between his thighs. His teeth strangle his lower lip as he tries to muffle the needy whines welling in his throat.

You pause and rub the cheek you’ve been working on, to which Klaus gives a hum and relaxes a bit into the mattress. Ben, on his side of the bed, shrinks away from the disappointed glare you shoot him.

“Do you need to be punished, too, Ben?” you say evenly.

“Well- it’s not- you didn’t  _say_ I couldn’t-”

You sigh. “And you were doing  _so well_ up until now.” 

You straighten up and stand in front of Ben. He’s trembling, and you know that part of it is from fear but the twitching in his underwear tells you that he’s also  _really_ enjoying the harsh inverse of the praise you normally shower upon him.

When you place your hands on his knees, he releases a broken gasp and starts to squirm away before remembering not to move. You tug his knees apart, almost as far as he can stand it, until he has to slouch back against the window and press his feet flat against the mattress to avoid sliding off the bed.

“If you move without my  _express_ permission, you won’t have to worry about not coming,” you murmur. His watery dark eyes glance up at you beneath his eyelashes. “Because I’ll make you come so many times you’ll lose count. Over, and over, until you’re  _begging_ me to stop touching you, and still I’ll wring every drop of come from your pathetic cock until you can’t fucking  _breathe_.” You give his cheek a friendly tap. “Okay?”

He nods with silent awe.

He’d do it. He’d let you do it. God, how he’d beg for the torture to end and yet silently revel in every miserable wave of overstimulation you’d inspire. He’d do it for you.

He’d do anything for you.

You return your attention to Klaus and his steadily reddening ass. You run a hand over the tender flesh, which elicits a moan. “Six more, baby. Think you can take it?”

He licks his lips and fixes you with an alluring grin, the effect of which is diminished little by the sweaty curls sticking to his face and the shadows of ruined eyeliner blurring his skin. “Never better, darling.”

He leans into the spanks, craves them like a dying man craves air, begs for them with pretty words and prettier moans spilling over swollen lips. His fingers twitch and tug against the restraints, the need to touch you stronger than the temptation of any drug. He pants open-mouthed into the sheets which are sticky from his sweat and spit and come and he loves it, revels in the filth, the  _depravity_ of it all. His cock hangs utterly neglected between his shaking thighs, bright red and dribbling precome and so very close to orgasm; nothing has ever felt so wonderful, so purely  _good_ as this sweet torture.

And yet, it’s still. Not.  _Enough._

The final slap rings throughout the room, and with a grateful “Thirteen!” Klaus slumps over onto his side. He lets out a pathetic cry as his dick brushes against the mattress on the way down.

You climb onto the bed behind him so you can card your fingers through his damp curls. Ben watches with yearning and pure desperation in his tight expression, his body begging to disobey and just grind down into the bed, but that’s not how the game goes. He’s a good boy, your good boy, and he’ll be patient. He’ll wait his turn.

When Klaus’s breathing has eased and he appears more or less coherent, you help him roll onto his back and give one of his nipples a light pinch. The moan that drifts out of his throat hits your brain like an alcoholic buzz, fuzzy and beautiful. You pet his thigh in sympathy.

“What a good boy. Took your punishment so well for me,” you murmur. You tease one finger over the base of his dick and watch his spine seize up, teeth clenched around a desperate groan. You turn your gaze on Ben, who looks like he’s seconds from tearing free of his own restraints and absolutely devouring you. “What do you think, Ben? Does he deserve a treat for doing so well?”

Ben huffs in annoyance- he’s jealous. You stroke a hand over his cheek, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation of your touch. “Don’t worry, dearest. You’re doing so well, just hold on a bit longer and you’ll get your reward, okay?” He kisses your fingertips as you take your hand away.

“Now, what to do with you?” you hum as you look over Klaus’s prone body.

He rolls his hips and gives you a stare burning with anticipation. “Preferably retie my hands in a slightly more comfortable position,” he says, quirking one eyebrow, and god he has to know what that simple motion does to you. “Not a  _demand_ , of course. Simply a request. Hope you’ll…” He makes a show of dragging his gaze over your entire body as he licks his lips. “...take it under consideration.”

You sit back and stroke a hand over your chin, carefully burning every particle of his body into your memory. He took his punishment like the most perfect little deviant, like the hungry, desperate thing he truly is. Watching him fills you with a kind of power that you’ve so infrequently gotten since you died. And here he is, laying himself before you like a suppliant before the altar, offering you freedom and dominance and unconditional trust, and you can only wonder what you did in life to afford this kind of blessing.

You trails your fingers up both of his calves, mapping your touch across his skin, feeling the soul-deep tremors rocketing through his body. You want him to associate you with the morning sunshine filtering through the filthy bay windows and the old mattress with just a comforter and no sheets, with rough twine digging into his wrists and reddening handprints seared into his flesh. You want to be solidified in his memory, too.

It’s a struggle for him to keep his eyes open and fixed on you when your hands near his groin. His teeth worry a dent in his bottom lip and he fights to keep his eyes from just rolling back at the sensation, but god does he try for you. Obedience is such a pretty color on him.

“Do you recall,” you murmur as your fingers trace dizzying patterns over his thighs, “the last time we were in this room together, like this?” You glance over your shoulder at his woefully neglected brother, who’s watching you with lust struck awe. “With Ben?” Said brother visibly trembles under the power in your gaze.

“Mmph,” Klaus mumbles. Your nails dig into his sensitive inner thigh and his head jerks up. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, that was good,” he says.

You trail a finger over his balls and he sucks in a quivering breath. “And do you remember what you did?” Your hand twists and clamps his balls in an inescapable grip. The wail that tears out of his lungs could have been torn from the tar pits of hell, so sweet and dripping with sin.

“  _Why do I have to punish you?_ ”

His next breath escapes in a wet sob, there are tears in his eyes and jesus he’s  _actually crying_. Not the overwhelmed, in-too-deep kind of crying where he’s too hysterical to use his safeword, but honest, angelic, cleansing tears of pain and gratitude. He’s rubbing his soul against the sandpaper of your sin and it’s rough, it  _hurts_ , but he’s going to come out the other side shiny and clean as a garden after a heavy rainfall.

When he takes too long to answer, or perhaps doesn’t yet realize that your question requires an answer, you give his balls another squeeze. Not too much, just enough for him to handle, and god how you revel in the euphoric bliss that flies from his lips.

“B-because,” he gasps, voice heavy with tears. “I’m… I-”

“Tell me why you’re being punished,” you snarl, twisting your hand once more. His eyes squeeze shut in exhilaration.

“Because I came without permission,” he sobs. He sucks in a slow, shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“And why did you come without permission?”

He turns his head and tries to burrow into the pillows, but there’s nowhere for him to go. He is bound, truly under your control, and you won’t let him hide from you. Your free hand snags in his hair and  _pulls_ at the same time that your other hand gives a vicious squeeze, and the scream that rends itself from his throat sounds painful, ragged, but it’s exactly what he needs right now.

“Because I’m a useless slut who can’t control my own cock, and I need you to do it for me,” he gasps.

That hits you like a punch to the chest. It worms through the bars of your ribcage and constricts around your heart, guts you like an animal, scoops out all your dirty insides until there’s nothing left but your heart staggering to the beat of his name.  _Klaus… Klaus… Klaus…_

You take your hands away and scoot back before you lose control. His body collapses back against the mattress and doesn’t he just look the  _picture_ of sin: back bowed against his hands still tied beneath him, chest rising with great, heaving breaths, muscles quivering with the rush of euphoria in his veins. His poor balls are a painful-looking scarlet, but god, the way his cock is twitching every few seconds and glistening with rivulets of precome- no other masterpiece can  _compare_.

He whines when you start to manhandle him, but you shush him with feathery pecks along his cheeks and he allows you to help him back into a sitting position against the alcove wall. He looks at you with teary eyes hazy with painkillers, framed by dripping eyeliner and lavender hollows from too many nights of too little sleep, bird’s-nest curls framing his gaunt features like a crown of thorns. You want to kiss away all the little chips in his mask, bleed his past from his bones and leave him hollow and shiny and clean. You want to be the only thing he remembers.

You plant your hands on his knees and yank them apart as far as they can comfortably go, breathing in the heady gasp that leave his lips at your commanding touch. You cup his chin with a grip startlingly gentle in comparison and tilt his face to yours.

“Greedy sluts who can’t follow directions don’t get to come,” you say gently, almost kindly. Your hand trails down his throat, over the layers of necklaces he always wears. It pauses at the metal cross that sits dead-center- you’re pretty sure it’s supposed to be ironic. The charm is heavier than you expected, but it sits on a cord of thick black nylon, perfect for your uses.

You force yourself not to look at his face as you work, because you’re pretty sure that if you look at him right now you’ll just want to end this game and spend the day drowning him in sweet kisses and that isn’t what he needs right now. He needs you to be mean, to show him your sharp edges. So you avoid looking at his face and instead focus on treasuring the beautiful little whimpers that escape his lips as you wrap the necklace around his cock and slowly, slowly ease it down toward the base.

It’s not quite the right size, perhaps just a  _bit_ too tight, but the guttural groan that rushes out of him when you’ve got the makeshift cockring fastened around his balls tells you that he has no qualms about it. He strains forward to chase your mouth with his own and you let him, because he’s being so fucking good for you and he deserves this. Klaus deserves wonderful things, and you’re perfectly ecstatic to give them to him.

When you pull apart, a string of spit connects your lips to his. He smiles at you through the haze of pleasure and darts a tongue out to graze your mouth, laps up the filth and savors it on his tongue. His cupid’s-bow lips are pink and slick with heavenly sin.

“Oh, thank you,” he moans. He grits his teeth and tilts his head back, rolling his hips against empty air, reveling in the denial of his own release. “Thank you, thank you,  _thank you_ …”

You gently bop his nose with one finger. “My pleasure,” you reply.

With one brother wholly restrained, you’re free to return your attention to the other. Ben is still leaning against the window with his feet planted on the cushion to keep himself upright, the fabric of his briefs taut against his straining erection, his lower lip permanently chapped with bloody teeth marks. He sags in relief when he realizes it’s his turn now.

“Poor, sweet, neglected little Ben.” Your voice drips with saccharine syrup. You trail a finger over his quivering thigh and just that slight touch is enough to make him gasp out a breath trembling with suppressed desire. “What a perfect boy you are. You’ve been waiting so patiently, haven’t you?” He marvels at you with hazy eyes as he nods in agreement.

“It hurts,” he moans. You can feel the twitching in his muscles, the need to rub up against you and chase his release, but he resists it with inhuman strength.

You trace your finger over the seam of his briefs, skip right over his dick and start down the other thigh, and you can hear the disappointed whine low in Ben’s throat.

“I know, baby, I know. You’re doing so well,” you hush him. You pause to squeeze the meat of his thigh and he lets out a warbling, high-pitched moan.“What do you want me to do, dearest?”

He swallows audibly. “C-can you kiss me? Please?”

You’re not gentle with him, not in the slightest, but kissing Ben is different than kissing Klaus. It’s softer, more about worship than war, savoring each other’s tastes rather than competing to see who can get the other off more quickly. You let yourself enjoy the simple wonder of kissing him, the meeting of soft lips and searching tongues, breathing in all the perfect little sounds in his throat.

Your hand trails back up his thigh in a dizzying path toward his cock, but you’re startled when Ben pulls away with a gasped, “Wait.”

So you do, hand hovering over the bulge in his briefs, terrified that you’ve done something to scare him off and he’ll never want to talk to you again- but he isn’t invoking the safeword, and he’s looking at you like a divine being come to Earth, so you lean back with an indulgent smile and reach up to stroke his cheek.

“What is it, sweetness?” you coo. His eyes slide half-closed under your touch, but he forces them open as he starts to speak.

“I want to- to last… longer for you,” he chokes out. “And if you keep touching me there, I… I definitely won’t.”

The need in his quavering voice is a fierce companion to the ferocity with which his burning pupils rake over you. It hits you like a flying boulder and sends you reeling. Many bits of thoughts flit through your mind, most of them suitable to make even Klaus blush, but one stands out over all the others:  _He’s so fucking good_.

****

You are going to fuck Ben Hargreeves.

Not today, certainly- he’s nowhere near ready for that. Probably not next week, or next month, but one day very soon you are going to well and truly  _fuck_ him.

He is the pinnacle of submission. If you weren’t already impressed by the restraint evident in the way he requested that you stop touching him because he wanted to last longer for you, you’d be fucking  _enamored_ by how well he’s taking to orgasm denial already. He’s seated before you on the bed, hands bound firmly behind his back, anchored to you by the hand stroking his cock and the makeshift leash fastened around his neck.

He’d let you put a goddamn  _leash_ on him, for heaven’s sake.

You’d located Klaus’s belt and secured it around Ben’s throat. You can make it as tight as you want- it’s not like he needs to breathe- and the pink welts digging into his skin make you feel tingly and heady. You hold the end of the belt in one hand, guiding his movements with gentle tugs, while the other hand pumps his pathetically eager cock. His skin is shiny with sweat and precome, muscles twitching as he suppresses the instinct to fuck up into your fist. As pretty as he would look trying to get himself off with your hand, it’s important for him to learn restraint.

Other than a few slip-ups- which were punished  _gratuitously_ , as evidenced by the marks scoring his thighs- he’s been doing extremely well under the treatment. His head is tilted back to expose his throat for your teeth to ravish, his lips spilling forth perfect breathy moans and guttural cries.

“What a perfect boy you’re being for me,” you murmur appreciatively. He whines at the honeyed praise. “So eager to do what I tell you. You’re doing so well, darling.”

He lets out a lingering moan from deep in his throat. “Mmm,” he groans, “I’m trying. It’s so hard…”

You giggle at the unintentional double entendre. “How hard, baby?”

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. You tighten your grip on the upstroke, squeezing just beneath the head of his dick, and he lets out a sharp gasp. “It hurts so much,” he chokes out.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He shakes his head so hard you can’t help but laugh. Your perfect, eager boy.

Behind you, Klaus is having some dick troubles of his own. He’s still bound and incapable of orgasm thanks to the impromptu cockring, and the complete lack of attention is impacting not just his sexual needs but his ego as well.

You’ve felt him getting closer to you. He probably thinks he’s being subtle, but you’ve caught right on to the little motions he’s been making across the bed toward your unprotected back. You’d shed your shirt some time after things began to get heavy with Ben, and Klaus had been utterly heartbroken that he didn’t get a glimpse of your bare torso. Classic middle sibling- whatever one brother has, he has to have as well. Now, it seems, he intends to collect.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off his body. Despite the layer of gauze wrapped about his stomach and the twin gun wounds still very much in his side, he’s trying his damnedest to get as big a piece of you as Ben has. 

A shock of electricity runs up your spine when you feel something defined and hard brush against your lower back. You slow your strokes over Ben’s dick, making him emit a pathetic whine, but he falls silent as soon as you give a sharp tug on his leash.

You turn your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing, Klaus?”

The silence hangs like smog over the room.

You shake your head slowly, giving him a disapproving  _tsk-tsk_. “Impatience doesn’t suit you, baby boy,” you murmur. His throat bobs with a thick swallow at the nickname. His skin is flushed pink with arousal and shame, his balls a brilliant and painful red, thighs slick with precome. 

He sticks his lower lip out in an expression that is far too endearing on a thirty-year-old man. “I’m sorry,” he pouts. “I’m just… so-” His lip trembles and his voice fails. He rolls his hips and his cock bobs enthusiastically, emphasizing that which he cannot say aloud.

You roll your eyes. “You know the rules. I’ve had to punish you  _so many_ times today- why can’t you just be good for me?” You give the belt a light tug and Ben’s mouth flies open on a moan. “Like your brother?”

Klaus’s expression twists into a sneer, but given his current disposition he looks more like a disgruntled puppy. “He gets everything and he doesn’t even have to try. It’s not fair-”

“What  _unfair_ is that Ben has waited patiently for his reward, and you are rudely interrupting him.”

Klaus’s mouth shuts with an audible  _click_. He looks like he still wants to argue, but whatever the words are they stay locked shut with him.

You flash him a cruel smile. “There, see, that’s a good boy. Just keep that up a little longer, hm?”

You turn back to Ben and lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. A surprised breath huffs out of his nose, then he tilts his head and melts into the kiss with a bone-trembling moan. He opens his mouth just a bit and he’s been so good for you, so obedient and desperate to do whatever you want that you feel compelled to allow him a bit of the relief he seeks.

Your hand speeds up on his cock, alternating the pressure along the entire length, sometimes twisting your hand a bit or swiping your thumb over the slit, smooth, graceful gestures designed to draw all those beautiful, melodic sounds from his lips. He moans without shame and you  _devour_ the sound, tongue dipping into his mouth and swallowing every sigh and whimper that you pull from him.

His breaths grow harsher, carry an edge of desperation, a signal that he’s close to falling over the brink of orgasm. With as little fanfare as you’ve given him all evening, you let go of his cock and sit up out of reach. His lips follow yours until you retreat beyond the line of his balance, then his head droops in defeat.

“Thank you,” he moans to the mattress. With great effort, he raises his head and meets your eyes with his own watery gaze. “Thank you…  _fuck_.” He grimaces and a pearl of precome wells on his dick.

“Good boy,” you coo, shooting Klaus a pointed glare. He returns with a shrug and a bratty grin.

Ben’s hair is ragged and sticking to his forehead. You brush it out of his face, stroking over his cheek with loving touches. He turns his head enough to kiss your wrist eagerly, reverently, and a pang of affection thrums in your chest.

“Ben, dearest” you murmur, and he glances up at you from beneath lust-heavy eyelids. “You’ve been doing such a good job- would you like a treat?”

He perks up at that, too far gone to even try to disguise his excitement. “Please,” he says in a breathy whisper.

You lean forward to kiss him, allowing yourself to indulge in his pillowy-soft lips before you move on with your plan. You drag your fingers up Ben’s thighs, thumbs and forefingers creating a diamond frame around his cock, and he whines at the touch but doesn’t try to pull away. You continue up his body, over his stomach and up to his chest, taking a brief detour to fondle his nipples. You prod at his lips with your tongue until he finally parts them with a grateful moan. He’s too embarrassed to say how much he loves when you do that, crowding into his personal space while you twist and tweak his nipples until they’re painful red and swollen, as brutally obvious as a hickie.

Your fingers finally land on the belt fastened tightly around his neck. At this point you divert your kisses lower, to the beautiful curve of his jaw, allowing a bit of teeth to slip in to provide that intoxicating mixture of pleasure-pain that gets him and Klaus off so well. He whimpers when you sink your teeth into the softer skin below his jaw. You crawl into that sweet, intimate space and stake your territory with bruising love bites.

He whines when he realizes that you’re removing the belt from his neck, but the sounds are strangled beneath a cry when you clamp your teeth over his throat. It’s not enough to do any damage- not that you could anyway, both of you being dead and all- but you can already see the beginnings of a cherry-red bruise blossoming on his skin when you pull away.

You cup his chin and tilt his head up, letting him simmer under the heat of your appraisal. “Did you like being tied up that badly?” you chuckle. You run the fingers of your free hand over the pretty little bruises marking his throat. There’s a pair of brilliant pink lines where the leather had dug into his skin. “You look so gorgeous like this, baby boy. You were fucking  _made_ for that collar.”

His eyes slide closed and he lets out a whimper at the filthy praise. You don’t miss the way his dick twitches with desire.

“As fucking  _perfect_ as you look like that, though,” you whisper, leaning closer, “I’ve got other plans for you.”

His eyes shoot open and when he sees you so close to him, gaze burning into his flesh he looks about ready to sink into the floor. You don’t get to admire the heat in his gaze for long, however, as you wrap the belt around his eyes and fasten it behind his head. With his hands bound and now his eyes covered, he shudders at the utter vulnerability of his position. 

You let go of him and turn around to face Klaus. Mutinous Klaus, who when he realizes your attention is on him again tries very hard to look like he wasn’t just trying to figure out a way to rub himself off without getting in trouble. He gives you a crooked, apologetic smile, but his posture exudes a contrary air of no-fucks-given.

“Darling,” you hum, and all the bravado  _whoosh_ es right out of him when you drag a finger along his jaw. His shoulders drop and he tries not to lean into your touch, eyes sliding closed and lips trembling on a desperate sigh.

You give his cheek a gentle smack. It’s not nearly the level that you were delivering upon his ass just minutes earlier, but he reacts as if he’s been gutted, spine curving toward you and emitting a needy moan. A bit of precome dribbles out of his cock.

“Do you still have that outfit?” you whisper. “The one you were wearing the first time we fucked.”

He glances up at you with eyes bright with thrill. “You mean those leather pants with all the laces? I still have those here somewhere, do you-”

“No, dearest, the other one.” You swallow back against the knot of excitement and anxiety forming in your throat. “The lingerie.”

Surprise colors his features, melting into an expression of mischief. “You want to see me in my pretty panties again?” he croons. “I have a matching brassiere, you know, if you’d prefer to see the full ensemble.” He licks his lips slowly, decisively, the way he  _knows_ sends pure heat rocketing through you.

You know that if you try to speak right now your voice will betray the arousal pounding in your veins, so you just give him a brisk nod. You untie his wrists and help him rub them to stimulate the circulation. He glances from you to his still-bound dick and then back, raising an eyebrow meaningfully, but you just shrug and grin.

“C’mon. Haven’t I done enough? You haven’t  _touched_ me in  _ages_ and I feel like I’m about to fuckin’ lose it,” he whines.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, but another, even more delicious use for the necklace has entered your brain, so you carefully undo the cord binding Klaus’s cock. His confident facade slips again as soon as your hands come into contact with his dick, and when you finally get it fully undone he whimpers at the sensation of freedom.

“If you touch yourself without permission, I won’t go  _near_ your cock for a month,” you snap.

He slides off the bed and glances at you with sultry hooded eyes, cocking his hip in a seductive manner. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he coos. You roll your eyes again.

While Klaus rifles through his clothing for the lingerie set, you turn back to Ben, who’s been perfectly patient throughout the exchange. By the time you’ve fastened the makeshift cockring around him, he’s a needy, trembling heap. Precome runs over his dick in thin rivulets, his skin is flushed a brilliant pink and hair sticking out in a flyaway tangle, breath coming in sharp, desperate moans. When you drag a finger up his thigh, his entire body jerks like he’s been shocked.

You trace an invisible path over his skin, following a vein along the entire length of his cock and teasing the head with barely-there touches. He lets out a long, low whine and his body sags under the pressure of holding back.

“What a perfect little mess you are, baby,” you murmur. He whines in response.

You can’t resist placing a gentle hand beneath his chin and tilting it up to meet your kiss. You can taste sweat and the slight tang of blood on his skin. He presses against you like you’re a buoy and he’s stranded in the ocean, tired and desperate, like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. Your tongues brush inside his mouth and he moans, a broken little thing, and you’re sure no other sound has ever been quite so beautiful.

“Ta-da!”

You grudgingly pull away from the kiss and turn to the source of the interruption, but your annoyance is swept away by the sight before you.

Klaus’s chest is adorned with a silky black bra garnished with an obscene amount of lace and bows. The padded cups stick out a bit awkwardly on his skinny chest, but it doesn’t detract from the image whatsoever. Letting your eyes fall lower, you can see a pair of black panties situated neatly on his slim hips. The material is sheer lace on the sides and then opaque silk where it conceals his dick. Not that it’s doing a very good job, as you can see it straining painfully against the fabric.

He smiles and preens under the attention you’re lavishing on him. He teases a finger over the prominent bulge in his lingerie; with his smudged eyeliner and tousled hair he looks sinfully debauched

“That’s enough,” you snap. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep the warble out of your voice.

Klaus gives you a teasing smile but clasps his hands behind his back. “Sorry,” he simpers, with an expression that says he is anything but.

You press one more kiss to Ben’s mouth before situating yourself at the edge of the bed. You lock your gaze on Klaus and crook a finger toward yourself, deliberate and suspenseful, projecting as much authority into your gaze as you can. His cocky facade wavers a bit as he follows the unspoken command and steps closer, standing as close to the bed as possible without touching it, his chest at your eye level just a few tantalizing inches away.

His breath hitches in suspense as he waits, watching you admire him, unsure if your next move will evoke pain or pleasure. You opt for the latter as you reach up to gently cup between his legs. His jaw pops as he grinds his teeth and holds back a moan, his hands twitching like they want to reach for you, but he stops himself.

He really is trying so hard to be good.

You massage him gently over the sheer fabric. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” you murmur, meeting his eyes with your own searing gaze. His throat bobs with an anxious swallow. “You’re going to get up on this bed, straddle one of those pillows, and fuck it for me.” Your lips twist into a sadistic smile and your grip tightens on his cock. “Really give me a show.”

His pupils are so wide they nearly eclipse the green of his irises. He starts to pull away, but you grab his wrist to pull him back. “Points for enthusiasm, darling, but I’m not quite finished,” you tell him. You retrieve the twine that you’d used to bind his hands before and, after a nod of confirmation from him, wrap it once more around his wrists so that they are fastened in front of him. He gives it a testing tug and, finding it satisfactory, sets about arranging himself on the bed.

While he does that, you return to Ben, still waiting patiently as ever. “How are you holding up, baby?” you ask, giving his cheek a soft caress.

“‘M fine,” he mumbles. You examine him for any concerns, but other than being a bit sleepy, he appears just as he says: fine. Not that his body can sustain any serious damage in this form (as far as you know), but it never hurts to confirm.

You slide behind him and sit with his back to your chest, your legs framing his. The rest of the bed is occupied by Klaus, who’s managed to finagle his way onto the bed despite his tied hands and straddles one of the pillows, pelvis hovering a few centimeters above the fabric. He gives you the self-satisfied grin of a child who has completed all of his chores and is waiting for permission to go play.

Ben squirms almost imperceptibly beneath you. He’s been so wonderful for you, so perfect, but he’s growing eager. You lips brush over his temple as you whisper a gentle, “Patience, my love.” Your fingers splay over his thighs, making him shudder.

Your eyes meander up the bed and linger on the remarkable sight of Klaus, blushing bright pink down to his navel and looking the picture of sin in his lacy black lingerie. You reach for him- you can barely bridge the distance with Ben between you, but you manage to hook a finger around his bra strap. You pull it back and let it go with a satisfying  _snap_. His breath releases in a low huff.

“You’re the devil,” he hisses.

You return with a sugar-sweet smirk. “Get used to it, baby.”

He chokes out a throaty laugh at that. You divert your hand to his chest and dip under the fabric of the bra, teasing over a pert nipple. The laughter turns to a hoarse cry, then a moan as he rocks his hips tentatively against the pillow.

“Stop touching him,” Ben interjects. “He loves it.”

Your hand freezes, hovering a miniscule distance from Klaus’s skin. He whimpers and tries to chase your touch, but you draw your hand back and caress Ben’s jaw instead.

“Look at this perfect boy,” you murmur, eyes burning into Klaus. “So obedient, he’ll even ruin his own brother’s pleasure to make sure he follows the rules.”

Ben’s body goes limp under the praise. Klaus, however, withers under the heat from your stare, and grudgingly stops his slow rutting against the pillow. He flexes his spindly fingers against the fabric, and you’re sure he’s imagining them wrapped around his own painfully leaking erection.

You rest your chin in the curve of Ben’s neck, forcing him to keep his head leaned back. You drag your hand down his throat, across the jut of his collarbones and his smooth planes of his chest to the willowy sinews of his abdomen. He gasps when your other hand joins the first to frame the vee of his pelvis.

“Please please please  _please_ touch me,” he whispers in a stumbling rush.

You press a smile into his neck. You begin to pepper sweet kisses over his skin as your hand slides down and teases over his shaft.

His body goes rigid in your hold. His jaw works against your temple, trembling around noiseless pleas. His fingers twitch sporadically as he suppresses the desire to reach for you around his restraints. You can feel the hot precome seeping over his cock, slick enough that he could easily fuck your fist with no lube and get himself off right now. You twist your palm over the head to feel more of it well up and spill through the gaps between your fingers.

You stroke him unhurriedly, just letting the both of you enjoy it. You slip a bit of pain into your kisses, kneading the flesh between your teeth and coating his neck in your bruises. His choked whines turn your spine liquid-hot, shooting fireworks in your muddled brain.

You turn your head to drag your teeth along the crest of his ear. “You are doing so well for me. You were fucking made for this, baby,” you breathe.

He keens, a high-pitched, pathetic, needy sound, and his breath catches on mumbled words. The hand rubbing over his cock slows down, and the other snags in his hair, tugging his face to yours.

“What was that, darling?”

He knows better than to take it back. He swallows thickly before speaking again. “T-talk to me. Please.”

You reward him by licking a slow stripe across his jaw, ending with a nip to the meat of his cheek. Then you snag his lip between your teeth and tug  _hard_ , drawing a pitiful cry from his lungs. You cover his mouth with your own and drink in all his perfect sounds like you’re fucking dying.

“Submission looks so pretty on you,” you huff against his lips. Your hand speeds back up on his cock and he arches into the touch. “I love how eager you are to obey me. You’d do anything for the promise of my hand on your cock, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” he groans. His fingernails scrabble at the inside of your thigh trapping his hands against his back. He shudders and writhes at the twin sensations of your grip on his cock and your fingers in his hair.

“You like begging for it, yeah? Like to show me how much you want me to control you, tell you  _exactly_ how to behave?” He nods hastily.

Your eyes flick over to Klaus, who’s actually trembling with the effort of obeying you. His knuckles are bleached white with the force of his grip on the pillow, his face flushed almost as violently red as the head of his dripping cock, his flyaway curls sticking to his damp forehead. He catches your eye when you glance at him and his face crumples, tears threatening to spill over as he begs wordlessly for relief.

“I think you’re a positive influence on your brother. He’s being sooo good right now,” you murmur against Ben’s temple. “You like when he watches you be a perfect boy for me? Like showing off how horny you get for me, how much you want me to fuck you? Hm?”

You drag your teeth over his neck and he cries out pathetically. “Think he’d enjoy watching me fuck you? I bet he’d be so jealous.” You glance back at Klaus, whose cheeks are damp with tears. “Oh, yeah, he’s definitely jealous. He’s crying, poor thing. I wonder what he’d do if I was  _really_ fucking you right now.”

Ben gasps and melts back against your chest, rocking his hips up into your unwavering hand. The broken syllable that passes through his parted pink lips sounds remarkably like a  _please_.

“Aw, you want me to fuck you right here?” You laugh and lick over his jaw, messy and feral. “Trust me, there is  _nothing_ I’d love more than to toss you down on this mattress and fuck your pretty little ass until you forget your own name,” you tell him. You shift your hips to grind against his backside- there was supposed to be a “but” here, though for the life of you you can’t remember why you shouldn’t just fuck him  _right now_.

He struggles to maneuver his fingers over your sex. “I want to touch you. M-make you feel good too,” he hisses, quickly adding a “Please.”

You press a messy kiss to his temple. “I appreciate the thought, love,” you say, “but it’s not my turn yet.” Your gaze slides up to the man before you. “Your brother’s been awfully patient, don’t you think?”

Klaus perks up at the attention. He hastily wipes away the tears and leans toward you. “I’ve been soooo good. Really, I have,” he breathes.

“Oh, yeah?” You show your teeth when you smirk at him. “Then tell me why I should let you get yourself off. Show me how badly you  _want it_.”

His throat bobs with a tense swallow. He forms his expression into something sweeter, more alluring, his spine curling like a tiger’s as he fixes you in his scorching gaze. “I want it more than anything,” he murmurs. “Wanna show you how pretty I look in my bra and panties, fucking into this pillow and wishing it was  _you_.”

He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, that’s such a lovely picture. Shoving me down and fucking me with your hand around my throat, just using me to get yourself off. Like that’s all I’m good for.”

A thrill runs through you. “Yeah? You’re gonna get off thinking about me using you as my little fucktoy? Is that what gets you going?”

“  _Yes_ ,” he whines with a full-body shudder. “  _Fuck_ , yes, please. J-just fuck me until you come, orgasm after orgasm, and leaving me completely unspent…”

Ben stirs in your grip, and you realize that you’ve been so enraptured in the show Klaus is putting on that you’ve stopped your motions on Ben’s dick. You peck him on the cheek and quickly resume stroking him.

“Filthy boy,” you hum appraisingly. “Your brother’s got such a dirty mouth, doesn’t he, Ben?”

“Mmph.” Ben rakes his teeth over his lip and rolls his hips into your fist. You chuckle and drag your tongue up the shell of his ear.

“Very well done, Klaus. So,” you murmur, “do you think you’ve earned your reward?”

He raises an eyebrow with an expression of  _What do you think?_ , but he’s smart enough not to voice the comment.

You nod toward the pillow and his face brightens. “Can I come, too?” he asks.

You run the hand in Ben’s hair over his scalp in gentle strokes. “Should I let him, Ben? He was being  _awfully_ naughty earlier,” you muse. Klaus’s face crumples and you think he might start crying again.

Though Ben can’t see it, he seems to sense his brother’s distress and shakes his head. “He’s b-been punished enough,” he croaks.

Your lips curve up in a devious grin. “Good answer.” You nod at Klaus. “Feel free to make yourself come, dearest. You have my permission.”

Sunshine breaks across Klaus’s face, and it’s such a rare and beautiful sight you could just kiss him. 

He braces his hands against the mattress and shifts his thighs wider apart. For a long, quivering moment, he hesitates, like he can’t quite believe he’s finally being allowed to pleasure himself; but at a soothing smile from you, he lowers his lips and grinds hard and slow against the fabric. His head tips back, mouth falling open, and he lets out a quiet moan as he begins to rut against the starchy material.

He builds himself up to a steady pace, letting himself relish the infrequent rush of pleasure. He’s all gangly limbs and sweat-slick skin, damp curls falling around his face like the image of a debauched messiah, eyes rimmed red and staring baldly at the ceiling above him. You realize with a heart-pounding thrill that he’s listening for the soft squelch of your hand rubbing over Ben’s cock and synchronizing his movements with it.

You want to touch him. You want to watch how his eyes widen when you pin his wrists above his head and trap him against the wall with a knee shoved between his thighs. You want to sink your teeth into his neck and suck hickies all over his skin, hold him in place with a firm hand around his throat and feel him pretend to struggle, playing into the scene until his eyes roll  back and he gives into euphoria.

You want to fuck him. Really, wholly, wonderfully, brutally  _fuck him_. More than that, you want him to  _want you_ to fuck him. You want to hear the pleas spilling over his lips, his moans as you pound into his ass and press harder against his throat, watch him scream as he spills all over himself and still take it even when the overstimulation is too much and you’re just using his body to chase your pleasure because you can’t. Stop.  _Fucking. Him._

The thought is so solid and tantalizing in your mind that you almost reach for him, but Ben’s weight against you drags you back into the moment. He himself is leaning over the edge of orgasm- if not for the cockring, he definitely would have come at least twice by this point. He’s so gone that he can’t even moan, just pant wordlessly as you drag him into oblivion.

You take the hand from his hair and wrap it around his middle. Something wild is sprinting through your veins, telling you to fuck him,  _hurt_ him, do what feels good and consequences be damned. You roll your hips against his backside, just missing the hands still trapped against your inner thigh, and it feels so purely fucking good that you do it again, and then once more.

Ben is sex-drunk and delirious, but he soon catches onto what you’re doing. He maneuvers his fingers to press against your sex the next time you curl your hips, and holy shit is it nice. It’s more than nice, it’s indescribable, but your brain is a little occupied at the moment so  _nice_ is the best adjective that it can supply.

Your hips start to speed up, rutting against him in a concerted rhythm. “Shit,” you grunt into his neck. Your orgasm is still miles off, but this is definitely getting you there. “Shit, shit. Fuck. You want this off?” Your fingers brush over the cockring on the next downstroke.

“Please,” he gasps.

You don’t have the mental capacity necessary for any more teasing. You stop grinding against him long enough to undo the cord that had been holding back his orgasm. Ben holds himself rigid and whimpers through it, and when it’s finally off, he sags in relief.

With the removal of the cockring there also seems to go any semblance of shame. Ben turns his head to seek out your mouth, teeth clacking before he drags you into a clumsy kiss as you resume your pace. He keens into your mouth and starts to roll his hips, meeting your strokes with a brutal, eager force.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your lips. “Fuck, shit, fuck, I’m gonna come-”

You hasten your strokes and grind your pelvis up against his searching fingers. The ghost of your approaching orgasm is rearing up, galloping toward you at an increasing speed, filling your veins with something wild and bloodthirsty. You’re possessed with the need to make him come, to taste the pulse pounding in his neck, feel the way he shudders beneath you when he-

His spine bows at a painful angle and he  _screams_ as thin ropes of pearly white come stripe his torso. You realize that you’ve sunk your teeth into the meat of his shoulder but you can’t make yourself let go, mesmerized by the way he quivers and sobs as you coax every drop of his orgasm out of his abused cock until he finally collapses back against your chest.

The energy that had overcome you recedes slowly alongside the buzz of orgasm dwindling between your thighs. You let go of his shoulder (you can’t help but admire the red teeth marks in his skin, even though you know they’ll be gone by tomorrow) and force your breathing to steady. The hand not covered in come rakes over his scalp in slow, soothing motions, and you dot soft kisses over his temple.

A soft clearing of the throat makes you glance back up. Klaus has stopped humping his pillow to watch you instead. Though his cock is flushed a violent, leaking scarlet, he stares in rapture at the fucked-out image you present.

“Did you come?” he asks. You shake your head. He licks his lips and smiles like he’s just been presented with his favorite dessert. “Can I make you?”

You huff out an exasperated breath. “Much as I admire your tenacity, I don’t know if either of us is ready to move on to the next round.” You nod at his well-fucked brother lying limp in your embrace.

Klaus shoots you a dramatic pout that shouldn’t be that adorable on a fully grown man in skimpy lingerie. “What if I describe it to you, then? While you… gather your energy?” His eyes flick to the come-sticky hand still resting on Ben’s stomach.

You smile. He really is impossible to deter from a goal. “Alright, then. Lay it on me.”

At your permission, his body falls once again into that feline disposition that somehow makes you feel like both predator and prey at once. “I want to taste you,” he murmurs. “  _So_ bad. I want to just  _ravish_ you with my tongue, feel you shaking under me. I want you to grab me by the hair and hold me down so I can’t breathe, just keep working my tongue and fingers and doing everything I can to please  _you_ , only you.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I want you to pull my hair, bruise me, bite me, mark me up. Just treat my body like it’s something to get you off.” His eyes slide half shut as the fantasy takes over. “I’d take it so good for you. Wanna feel the way you come in my mouth. Would you let me lick it all up?”

A violent tremor roils through your gut. He’s still looking at your hand, and the idea is a bit out there, a bit gross, but you’ve already crossed so many lines, what’s one more?

You extend the hand to Klaus and he looks like he might cry again, but this time it’s tinged with the color of joy. He treats it like the world’s sloppiest blowjob, clumsy tongue and spit dribbling over his chin, teeth scraping over your skin as he tries to gather up every drop. His mouth really was made for giving oral.

When he’s satisfied with his work, he looks up with a hopeful expression. You just can’t resist that smile.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

He preens under the rare praise. You’re searching your sex-addled brain for something more articulate, but before you can think of anything, Ben stirs in your hold. You slide the blindfold off and see a pair of red marks embedded in his skin.

“You didn’t come,” he says. The frown on his lips is so serious, so invested in your own orgasm that you have to press an affectionate peck to his forehead.

“Don’t worry about me, lovely. I’ll be fine,” you assure him.

He shakes his head. “I want you to come.” He nods toward Klaus. “We want you to come. Please,” he adds.

Affection squeezes your heart. They’re sweet to think of you; it would be quite rude to deny them what they want after they’ve been so well-behaved. Besides that, you definitely wouldn’t mind putting Klaus on his knees and letting him drag you into oblivion.

Really, how can you say no?

****

Klaus deserves nice things. He deserves kindness, and to feel loved, because he has zero qualms about giving his love to others and he should get to receive it right back. You’d give him all of that, everything, anything to make him feel loved and safe the way he does to you.

You want to photograph this scene in your mind and hold onto it when he’s gone. You never want to forget the way Klaus looks when he’s getting down on his knees for you, legs quivering from the approaching orgasm he doesn’t seem to want himself to have, and he leans on you to steady him because his hands are still bound and he didn’t even ask for you to untie them. You would, if he asked you to.

Klaus is tall in a way that Ben isn’t. Klaus is skeletal, and wiry, and he  _ looms _ like the shadow underneath everything. Ben is thin, Ben has a little bit of muscle, but he’s tall in the way that most people are tall. Klaus is more phantasmic, more eerie, more dead than the actual ghosts in the room.

His head is at the level of your stomach. He kneels in the space between your spread legs, inserts his broad shoulders to force you open for him. You are pulling the strings, but this one is wrapped around his finger. He has the right to it; even if you could remember your life, you’re sure no other person could come anywhere close to the level of godhood to which Klaus ascends any time you put your pleasure in his hands. He deserves a fucking medal for giving head, he really does.

The wood flooring bites into Klaus’s gangly knees, his panties are stretched taut over his hips from the strain of his erection pulling at the fabric, and he looks simply  _ delicious _ in a way that you cannot articulate. He’s all lanky limbs and smudged eye makeup, lilac shadows under hollow bones, skeletal and ghostly and alive and beautiful. You can just imagine how his lips would feel around the most sensitive part of you, that most unholy release after depriving yourself for such a long time. You deserve it.

Klaus presses a chaste kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher, peppering slow kisses along the inseam of your pants until he reaches your zipper. His mouth hovers there, tongue flattening against the denim, peering up at you from behind the curtain of his eyelashes and you can feel the bloodthirsty wild thing stirring inside you again.

Behind you, Ben sits with his legs framing yours and his chest flush to your back, a mirror of how you’d held him through his earlier orgasm. His chin rests on your shoulder and his hands brush over your bare ribcage in slow, gentle movements. He’s not teasing you, not yet, just helping his brother set the stage for the opening scene. You’re still in the goddamn  _ overture _ , for heaven’s sake.

Klaus takes his mouth away and holds up his bound hands. “Pretty please?” he asks, sweetly.

It’s cute, but it’s not what this type of scene requires. You school your expression into something coldly detached. “If you really want it,” you say, “you know what you have to do.”

Disappointment flashes across his features only for a brief moment, then it melts into something warmer, seduction and sin. You don’t see him move but it seems somehow that his spine curves a little bit deeper, the dimples above his ass a bit more prominent, and did his skinny chest fill out the bra that well just a moment ago? His eyebrows draw together and he pouts his lips like the caricature of a pinup model but damn does it look incredible on him.

“Please  _ please  _ can you untie my hands so I can take your pants off?” he murmurs. His voice is thin and husky, like the femme fatale in a noir flick. He traces an index finger over his lower lip, eyes sliding closed like he’s imagining it’s you, his tongue peeking out just to graze the pad.

You nearly moan when he slides the finger into his mouth, just to the first knuckle, but holy shit that image is really doing it for you. He only indulges you for a moment before pulling it back out with a wet  _ pop! _ and tilting his head innocently.

“I want to taste you,” he whispers. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Well, how can you say no to that?

You grab his hands perhaps a bit more roughly than you meant to and start to undo the twine. Your heart trembles when his index finger brushes your wrist, still slick with his saliva.

Once you’ve finished, he rubs over his wrists to help the circulation and gives you a sultry wink. “ _ Danke _ , sweetheart,” he says.

Instead of returning to your zipper like you’d expected, his hands jump to your ankles, running his hands over your skin like it’s something holy. He extends one of your legs and kisses right below the cuff of your pants, stubble grazing over your ankle and sending all kinds of feelings through you.

“I thought you wanted to blow me,” you manage through quivering lips. “What’s the delay?”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there. I just don’t want to forget what it feels like to be able to touch you,” he mumbles as he kisses up your calf.

_ Oh _ .

Your heart twinges as he imprints the sensation of you upon his memory, and you wish, not for the first time but certainly the hardest, that you could never have to worry about being unable to touch him.

Ben releases a low sigh against your ear. You’d almost forgotten about him, you’d been so wrapped up in Klaus’s performance. You turn your head enough to press a kiss to Ben’s temple.

“Enjoying the show?” you ask him.

He smiles. “I wouldn’t mind if he’d hurry it up a bit.” His fingernails scrape over your hips, circling threateningly close to the waistband of your pants. “I want to see the main event.”

You thread a hand in Klaus’s hair and tug him back so you can meet his eyes. “You hear that, darling?” you say. He nods quickly, though you suspect that might be more so he can feel the tension of his strands against your hold. “Enough teasing. Get on with it, or I won’t let you touch me at all.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he protests with a wounded look, but he brings his hands up to undo your zipper.

It takes some maneuvering to get your pants off, but soon you’re bare except for your underpants, a fact which seems to bother Klaus more than the delay of his own orgasm. He tugs at the fabric with pleading eyes, but this is one of those times when it feels just too fucking good to say no to him.

“You’re mean,” he pouts.

“And you’re being a brat,” you reply. “You know how this game goes, love. Show me how badly you want it.”

He levels a sour glare at you, but he does as asked. Bracing his hands on your thighs, he drags his tongue over the fabric in a deliberate line, then prods at the area where he knows you’re most sensitive with fleeting, burning little strokes that turn your spine molten. Your fingers tighten subconsciously in his hair and he moans, sending beautiful vibrations through your core. It’s a tool you can use to turn him on and eke out your own pleasure in return, that easy pain, and it gives you just as much enjoyment to know that he’s having fun too.

Your fingers twist in his curls, tug him closer until you’re grinding against his face, and he makes a pleased rumbling sound that you think is as close to purring as a human can get. He doesn’t even have to do anything, just digs his fingers into your thighs to anchor himself as you use his tongue to get yourself off. It’s a slow, heady kind of arousal, one that lets you know right away that it won’t bring you to that peak for another hundred miles, and that’s okay, because you would exist for eternity and never have another orgasm if it meant Klaus was happy.

You’re so caught up in watching Klaus letting you dry hump his face that you don’t feel Ben’s fingers drifting lower, don’t notice his scheming until he catches the elastic of your underwear and the next time you roll your hips against Klaus’s tongue he brushes over the bared skin. The three of you share a gasp, theirs of arousal and yours of betrayal, but it’s no longer possible to stop your frenzied motions against Klaus’s tongue. Ben tugs the elastic down a little more, not quite fully exposing you but damn near.  _ Damn _ near.

“Traitor,” you gasp, tongue anxious for blood, but you can’t even focus enough to locate his mouth in the harried puddle of limbs and sex so you latch your teeth onto the first bit of skin you find. Ben groans and jerks his hips against your lower back, and you can feel, implicitly and without question, the beginnings of an erection pressing against you.

You tut-tut at him. “Dirty boy,” you admonish him. “You getting hard again just watching me fuck your brother’s face?”

Ben and Klaus gasp in the same breath.

You can feel the train-whistle-scream of your orgasm coming on fast, but this is not how you want to finish it, you need to regain control of the game. So you use your grip in Klaus’s hair to force his head back, ignoring the heartbreak on his face, and smack Ben’s thigh to stop him.

“Now you’re both acting like brats,” you scold them. “Naughty boys don’t get to come. And they  _ definitely _ don’t deserve to make me come in their mouths.” You level a glare at Klaus, who deflates under the heat of your admonishment.

“S-sorry,” Ben mumbles. He’s not used to this, being on the wrong side of your attention, and it’s dirty and sweet and he’s not sure how to feel about the fact that he enjoys it.

You release Klaus’s hair and give his cheek a soft caress. He closes his eyes and leans into it, the affection and intimacy of touch, the kind of love you’d give him every chance you could. You lean over and guide him closer, almost close enough to kiss, his roiling green eyes ready to consume you.

“I know it’s hard, darling, I know it is,” you whisper. “I know you’re trying so hard, and you’ve been so good, mostly. So I’m going to let you come.”

A brilliant smile breaks across his face. “Really?” he cries, bouncing with excitement.

You laugh and rub your thumb over his cheek. “Yes, really.” You glance behind you at Ben, who’s still looking a bit withered after his scolding. “But not until your brother does.”

You sit back up and twist to brush your lips over the side of Ben’s neck. “And  _ you _ can’t come until I do.” He whimpers and closes his eyes like he can already feel it.

It’s possible. It’s difficult, but possible. Moreso for Ben, who’s still so oversensitive it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge, so waiting for you must seem like an eternity. You wonder if either of them would cry if you denied them for long enough.

You fist your hand in Klaus’s hair and guide him back to your center. This time you allow him to ease your underwear over your thighs and toss it over his shoulder, and then his mouth is on you in earnest. He’s not neat about it, doesn’t tease or show off, just drags you under the waves of euphoria emanating from his expert tongue. You let it crash over you, melting boneless against Ben’s chest as it consumes you. The latter leans his weight against you, a counterbalance to your sagging spine, frantically trying to match his brother’s pace as he rolls his hips against your lower back. 

Klaus’s slender hand begins to tug his own erection, drawing the most delectable moans from his lungs that shudder against your flesh in a mortifyingly intimate way that just makes you want him  _ closer _ . You can feel that ferocity clawing out of your chest again, howling for blood, coaxing your grip tighter and your hips faster as you  _ take _ your pleasure from Klaus’s eager tongue.

He wants this. Wants you to use him for your own needs like that’s all he’s good for. He’s not, he’s worth so much more to you than that, but the animal banging against your ribcage doesn’t care because his submission just feels  _ too fucking good _ . 

You buck against his tongue and he groans, tightening the grip on his leaking cock. His other hand comes up to pinch and rub at his nipple over the bra. He looks like- he looks like such a  _ slut _ , playing with himself and quivering with the effort not to come before he’s allowed.

Arousal is burning through you like poison, tightens your limbs in its powerful grip. Tiny, desperate whines spill through your lips as your hips work faster, bowing between the sensation of Klaus’s tongue on you and Ben’s desperate little jerks against your backside.

Distantly, you feel something new brushing over your skin, feather-light. It isn’t until a finger is brushing your entrance that you realize Ben’s got his arm under one of your thighs and is slowly, sneakily easing into you. You hiss at the intrusion but it’s not pain, it’s something closer to shame but not quite, not in a bad way. Your thighs spread instinctively, heels digging into Klaus’s back, serving the dual purpose of holding him closer against your sex.

Ben doesn’t wait to shove a second finger in and slide them up to the second knuckle (not that you need much prep with how slick you already are from Klaus’s spit and your own arousal, though you’ll never admit to it if asked). You shriek and your free hand jumps to Ben’s thigh, nails raking nasty gouges over the flesh, and he moans desperately into your neck. His lips brush over the skin, teeth find purchase and begin to knead your flesh, sending sparks of bright, brutal pleasure through your sex-addled brain.

The world has narrowed to the three of you and the beautiful way you fit together. It’s like a symphony, each of you tuned to the others’ bodies like lifelong virtuosos, pulling the exact strings to evoke a perfect harmony of pleasure. It’s beautiful and sublime and cliche and you never ever want it to end.

You could easily come just like this, given a little more time, but then Klaus, chin glistening with your arousal, draws back to take a breath, and something marvelous happens.

Ben scissors his fingers and flattens his palm against you, holding you open, and when Klaus dives back in he shoves his tongue, without pretense or preamble, as far into you as he can manage.

You scream his name and twist your hand in his hair sharply enough that you feel a couple strands pop out. He strokes his tongue inside of you like his only purpose in life is to get you off, while his free hand continues to work between your thighs. He flicks his thumb over the most sensitive areas in a way that has you just  _ shrieking _ in his hold and leaning back against Ben to fuck up against his face.

Ben himself is getting closer, you can tell; he’s wrapped his unoccupied arm around your middle and is tugging you back toward him with every thrust of his hips. You’re pulled between the frantic rhythm of his hips and the drag and pull of Klaus’s tongue inside you. The ferocious thing in your chest has bowed under the weight of something much bigger and brighter, a sun getting ready to explode, and you let yourself fall to it, let it yank you under the waves and toss you like a broken doll among the riptides.

Your orgasms thrums in your bones, in your blood, it is part of you and born of you. It hits you like a bullet train, like the last burst of energy before you died, monsoon and hummingbird heartbeat crashing over and through you and around you. It’s brighter than you’ve ever seen, enormously so, wonderfully, achingly so.

You don’t think you passed out, but at some point you must have closed your eyes because the world does not reappear until you open them. Ben’s arm hurts where it’s digging into your stomach, but you let him continue, feel him rut against your backside and let his breathy grunts echo in your ears until they climax into a low, wispy groan and he stills.

You look down at Klaus right as he spurts over his own hand and stomach and thighs. His mouth is open in a noiseless scream, eyes screwed shut, bracing himself against the bed with a trembling arm. His face is so red you’re afraid that he’s stopped breathing, but finally he slumps back onto the floor with a warbling moan.

The final notes of your sonata fade into the still summer morning as you all come down from your collective highs. Tiny aftershocks echo through your blood, a million mini-orgasms tingling at the memory of pleasure still flooding your limbs. It’s good.  _ It’s better than good. _ It’s perfection. Like them.

It takes the joint efforts of both you and Ben to haul Klaus up onto the bed. They settle with you in between them, Ben snuggled into your left side, Klaus claiming your right with an arm thrown across your torso and a leg hooked around your own. You let the sunlight warm you and make sure to burn this into your body’s memory, something to hold onto when you become incorporeal again.

You’d die a million times over before you let this go.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any feedback or kink requests, please feel free to comment below or message me on Tumblr at humblepirate. I'm always open to suggestions!! Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Title is from Venus in Furs by The Velvet Underground.


End file.
